The Broken Clock was one of the best conclusions to a trilogy in my recent memory. Surprisingly good — stunningly good. I mean, I knew P.T. Hylton was a good writer. That’s why I added him to my Awesome Indie List last year. Because he can write his ass off. But I didn’t expect him to freak out and bust the glass with such a solid slam dunk. Who the hell does he think he is, anyway? As my great great grand daddy used to say, “It ain’t natural, is what it ain’t. That boy’s got the devil in him.”

One of the side-effects of writing novels is the effect it has on a writer’s ability to enjoy books by other people. Not all writers — I’d never speak for all writers. But I know from talking to many of them that they feel the same way. When we read a book, we see the puppet master pulling the strings. We see the flaws: easy conclusions, forced motivations, lifeless turns of phrase here and there pulling us out of the story. For me, because of my lazy nature, yet another barrier hangs between me and a good/easy read. I know how much effort goes into writing a book, and sometimes reading feels like relaxing three feet from someone chopping a season’s worth of firewood. It’s distracting. Sometimes it’s embarrassing, when the flaws are really big.

I felt none of this at all while reading P.T.’s book. I’m not saying the book was perfect. I love Robert B. Parker’s books, but none of them are perfect, and I’ve read something like 40. Same goes with Jim Butcher (though, to be honest, he’s pretty damn close to my vision of perfect, the bastard). What I’m saying is, P.T.’s book swept me away. I fell in love with the characters in a way that I hadn’t expected to. P.T.’s biggest strength has always been plotting. His first two books were plot-driven. This third one was definitely plot-driven — but it was also character driven. That combination turned what would have been yet another good P.T. Hylton book into P.T.’s first masterpiece.